Family Ties
by Atticus Crisps
Summary: How will Harry Osborn deal with the fact that his father had two identities? And how will the appearance of a strange new costume change Peter? Takes place after Spider-Man 2.
1. Ordinary Day

**Chapter 1: Ordinary Day**

Mary-Jane Watson sat by the window in a very small apartment. It was the apartment of Peter Parker. She smiled as she though of him. It had been exactly one month since that fateful day when she left her fiancé at the altar and ran to Peter. Peter, the "nerd" from high school. Peter, the one who had told her twice that their relationship could never be. Peter, the one who then told her that he did in fact love her, and that he always would. Peter, the love of her life. She smiled just thinking about him. They were engaged now, with a wedding scheduled in a few months. And as she sat there, gazing out at Manhattan, she wondered what Pete was up to.

Five blocks away, Spider-Man was hurtling toward the ground at ninety miles per hour, toward three masked men dressed in black, stepping into a general store. The hero had dived from the top of an eighteen story building, which really was nothing for him. Three or four feet from the ground, he shot up two strands of webbing, which, a split second later, where firmly adhered to a window about ten stories up. It slowed his fall enough so that he had a gentle landing on the sidewalk.

He leisurely strode into the general store. No rush today. He had the day off from class. His employer at _The Daily Bugle_ was sick, which meant he would get a break from J. Jonah Jameson yelling at him for pictures. Even the pizza parlor was closed, due to a family reunion of the manager. Nobody in the general store seemed to notice Spider-Man walking in. Under his mask, Peter Parker grinned. This could be fun.

A moment later as the robbers' bags were being filled with loot, Spider-Man walked up to the register.

"I'd like to buy these oranges please," he said, holding up two fruits. The cashier gaped at him. The thugs stopped what they were doing. One even dropped his sack of money. Spidey continued, "What? It's not like I'm trying to rob the place." More stares. Peter choked back a laugh. "Fine, if you wanna do this the hard way then," he finished. He dropped the two oranges and kicked them to the side.

One of the thugs began fumbling in his pocket for something. After a moment, he pulled out a small pistol. He had his finger on the trigger and was pulling it back, the gun trained on Spider-Man. In less than a second, the gun, as well as the man's hand, was encased in a cage of web. Now Spidey would get the job done. The fist man charged at him, screaming as he went. Spider-Man stepped aside, letting the man run straight into the wall. Peter shook his head. _Pathetic_, he thought.

Pete grinned inside his mask. This would be the fun part. He front flipped clear over the heads of the two remaining prisoners-to-be. Just as the thug whose hand was covered in web turned to face the hero, a fist was in his face. Out cold with one punch. Now the third thug was scared. He started to back away rather slowly, his speed gradually quickening. A few seconds later, he stepped on one of the oranges. It rolled under his foot and he fell, his head hitting the ground with a sickening sound.

Spider-Man walked to the cash register and gave the cashier his money bags.

"I think the police can take it from here," he said. On his way out, he picked up the orange that the thug had tripped on and handed it to the man.

"This, sir, is your lucky citrus." With that, Peter Parker strode out of the general store and onto the sidewalk. He promptly leapt high into the air and grabbed onto a building. After climbing to the top of it, he decided that Manhattan could take care of itself for a few hours. His patrolling work was done for now.

He figured he'd surprise Mary Jane with lunch and spend some time with her. Acting on that idea, Spider-Man leapt off the building and began swinging through Manhattan's busy streets. Changing in the alley outside a popular deli, Peter Parker, now just, well, Peter Parker, walked into the deli, bought two chicken wraps and walked home, which was only half a block away.

Mary Jane opened the apartment door to find Peter, standing there with a box of food and a big grin on his face.

"Surprise," he said, receiving a gentle kiss before walking to the table and taking out the meals. They ate slowly, talking about the general store robbery and what Mary Jane did with her morning. She gave him a sad smile.

"What?" He inquired.

"Hate to tell ya, Tiger, but Mr. Jameson called. He needs you at the _Bugle_."

"Why!? He's sick!"

"Apparently he's OK now. Hey, whatever assignment you're gonna get won't be half as bad as the lecture I got about leaving his son at the altar." She laughed. He grinned at her.

"I promise, I'll be back as soon as I possibly can, Mary Jane," he apologized.

"I know Pete." She kissed him gently and told him that she'd see him later. Reluctantly, he walked out the door of the apartment and began descending the stairs. _Mary Jane is too good to me_, he thought. She always understood when he had things to do. _Then again, that's love, isn't it?_

"Parker! You're late again! You better get these pictures, pronto! There's a big construction site two blocks from here. You can't miss it. On second thought, you could." The cigar in J. Jonah Jameson's mouth bobbed up and down with every word he uttered. Peter thought nothing of the harsh tone. He was used to it by now.

"I'll get right on it, Mr. Jameson." Peter walked out of the office and rode the elevator to the roof of the_ Bugle_ Building. Changing quickly, Pete dove off the building, which was fifty or sixty stories high. Within seconds, he sat atop one of the construction site's numerous girders.

He dropped to the ground and began snapping pictures from several different angles. Several times he leapt high into the air and captured a shot. When he had fifteen pictures, he stopped and examined them. They were quite beautifully taken, at least in the mind of a photographer. After all, how beautiful could a construction site get?

Spider-Man swung through Manhattan at an extreme speed until he arrived at the _Daily Bugle_. He did a neat little front flip and landed on the roof. He opened the door that led to the elevator and stepped onto the lift, changing as it moved. He got off at the proper floor and stepped into Mr. Jameson's office.

"Parker! Next time you take that long, you're fired!" Peter smirked. The job had taken all of twenty-five minutes. Sighing, he handed Jonah the pictures.

"Here you are Mr. Jameson, and sorry about the wait." Jonah surveyed the pictures, one by one throwing them down on his desk.

"These look like a blind guy with shaky hands took them!" A pause. "You must be getting better."

Peter was webslinging his way home as fast as he could. Between Jonah, a carjacking, and a stolen running shoe, Peter had been distracted every time he had tried to get home. By now, it was 9:00, and he still wasn't home to Mary Jane. He was so close to the apartment. Not even half a block left. His window was in sight. And then came a bloodcurdling scream.

Just below the apartment window, a burly thug dressed in black was snatching a woman's purse. _I've had just about enough of this_, thought Spider-Man. He never even stopped swinging. He simply lowered his altitude and swung right into the mugger. The hero's feet hit the man in the throat and sent him flying about thirty feet. The purse was knocked into the air, falling back into the woman's waiting hands.

"Thank you, Spider-Man!" The woman's call of gratitude made Peter grin.

"All in a day's work. No problem," responded the masked hero. He speedily jumped to his apartment building and crawled into his window.

Peter sighed when he saw Mary Jane sound asleep in his bed. Even though he knew he was wrong about it, he felt as if he had let her down. He would have liked to spend time with his bride-to-be that day. He changed and went into the bathroom to wash up.

"That you, Tiger?" Peter grinned widely and stepped into the bedroom.

"Hey, MJ!" He gave her a kiss on the forehead. She looked extremely tired and almost half asleep. She smiled gently at him.

"So, anything interesting happen today?"

"Not really. Just an ordinary day."


	2. Acceptance

**Chapter 2: Acceptance**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Spider-Man or any of its characters. What am I, Stan Lee?

**A Note From The Author:** Alright, well here it is, the second chapter. I tried to alter the First Chapter just a bit, but the site wasn't hearing it. At any rate, there should be some kind of a line or that little three star thing or something to show separation between the whole _Daily Bugle _part and everything else. I think it was supposed to be just before the first "'Parker!'" and after "'You must be getting better'". Oh, well. Not major, really. Thanks to all my reviewers, I appreciate that they took the time to review. Now, without further ado, Chapter Two!

**Chapter 2: Acceptance**

Harry Osborn held his head in his hands as he sat on the floor of one of his mansion's studies. Harry was the same age as Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson. He was tall and lean, with brown hair and intense, burning eyes.

Harry had been best friends with both Peter and Mary Jane for a very long time. And, although after high school, the trio saw each other much less, they considered one another to be the best of friends. However, with the death of his father, Norman Osborn, president of the great company Oscorp, Harry had changed. He had a bitter hatred for Spider-Man, who he suspected had killed his father. He was constantly nagging Peter about taking pictures of Spider-Man.

And then the fateful day came when Harry had Spidey captured and brought to the mansion. With dagger in hand, he pulled back the mask that covered the face of Peter Parker, his best friend. Neither Pete nor Mary Jane had heard from Harry since then.

The truth was that nobody had heard from Harry, aside from his living necessities. He had given into a solitary state. He still did some work for Oscorp, but the only way he transferred documents to colleagues and clients was through faxing. Aside from his unusual state of living (that had been going on only for a month), he was almost ashamed of Oscorp, for the company had provided funding for Dr. Otto Octavius, whose self-sustaining fusion experiment had gone horribly wrong, causing four mechanical arms to become welded to his body. This hideous sight also gave way for Manhattan's newest supervillian, Doc Ock, so lovingly named by J. Jonah Jameson. Octavius was now floating in the water just under where a second try at the futile experiment had been conducted. He was vanquished by Spider-Man, of course.

The night of Octavius's death, Harry had indeed pulled back Spidey's mask only to find his best friend's face behind it. Now he didn't know what to think. Peter was his best friend; he loved him like a brother. But Peter killed Harry's father! After releasing Peter, Harry had seen his father's moving, speaking image standing in a mirror. Norman demanded that Harry avenge him. His son refused, breaking the mirror. Then came Harry's shock when he found a room containing the mask and suit of the Green Goblin, the villain's glider, several of the physical enhancers his father had worked with, and hundreds of his tiny, pumpkin resembling bombs behind the mirror.

Harry's first feeling was obviously of shock. Then he wondered whether his father was truly the Green Goblin. He must have been. But how could he kill all those people? How could he try to kill his own son's best friend? And even though Peter had to stop him, he was still incredibly enraged. Evil or not, Norman was Harry's father. And now a month later, Harry sat on the floor, unsure of what to do.

Harry walked to the mirror, which was still shattered, with shards of glass all about. He stepped into the narrow, drafty corridor. The passage lit up with his entrance. The young man went to the mask, picking it up, turning it over in his hands several times. He stared into its gaping yellow eyes, his own eyes widening.

Harry heard shrill laughter all around him. He suddenly felt the urge to try the mask on. He didn't want to. He fought the urge, but the inside of the mask was moving steadily toward his eyes anyway. He inwardly screamed "No!" He fought his arms, but to no avail. He tried to actually scream, but he had no control over his own body. Now the mask was only an inch away from his face. And then it enveloped his whole face, staying in place as his hands fell to his sides.

Now he, too, joined in the maniacal laughter echoing all around him, though he sobbed inwardly. _What the hell is happening to me?_ Eventually he just stopped fighting and watched, horrified as he moved to the rest of the suit, and outstretched his arms. A platform that he was apparently standing on rose slightly, and moved toward the suit. The costume split in half. The two halves moved to either side of Harry, and enclosed around him.

Again, his inner self broke down, but then suddenly stopped crying. It was as if his inner self had disappeared, and everything felt right. He put up no struggle against himself as he went over to the wall of bombs and grabbed six, putting four in various places on his suit. And then the true Harry Osborn was back, screaming to be set free as his body walked over to the glider and put the two remaining bombs into slots at the front of the machine.

_What just happened?_ He asked inwardly. _Why did I stop fighting for a minute there? Was I agreeing with what my body_ _was doing? What's happening?_

The true Harry, with no control over his body, began to scream and sob again. And then his body began to do the same. The suit and mask automatically came off of him and seemed to replace themselves on the wall, except for the fact that the mask was no longer separate from the body of the suit.

Harry staggered back through the mirror and into his living room. He collapsed on the floor, asleep from pure shock.

* * *

Harry woke upon his living room floor with a start.

"What a weird dream", he murmured, frowning. The dream had made him realize how awful his father truly had been and that he could not hold his father's death against Pete. He certainly did not hate his own father, but he was no longer as angry at Peter as he previously was. Now he felt bad for shutting his best friend off completely for the last month. He felt obligated to give his friend a call.

Harry picked up the phone and dialed Peter's apartment, walking around as it rang.

"Hello?" A cheerful voice answered the phone.

"Pete?"

"Harry?" Now Peter was in shock. He would've felt lucky to talk to Harry another time in his life.

"How're things?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"Fine… Just fine… How about you? Where have you been? I wasn't ever expecting to hear from you again."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but we can talk about it another time. I'm OK, I just needed some time to put things into perspective. So how're things going with MJ?" Harry paced around the room.

"Great. We're working on planning the wedding date. Should be in a few months."

Harry absentmindedly listened to Peter ramble on about J. Jonah Jameson as he walked toward the mirror. He stepped inside the mirror room and looked around, remembering his nightmare. There was nothing unusual, to his relief. The glider on one side of the room. The bombs on the opposite wall. The suit and mask hanging there harmlessly.

Harry began to step back into his study but did a double take instead. The mask was sitting on top of the costume. Before his dream, the mask was stationed almost across the room. Harry gasped loudly.

"What is it, Harry?" Peter asked in a concerned tone.

"I'm gonna have to call you back later, Pete."

"When? Is something wrong? Did I say something?"

"No, No. I'll talk to you later, Pete," said Harry, hanging the phone up.

_It wasn't a dream after all! What the hell is happening to me?_

Harry stumbled out of the mirror room, collapsing onto his knees on the study floor. He slapped himself in the face in an attempt to wake up from whatever nightmare he was having. Nothing changed around him, except for the fact that the room began to spin. Tears of agitation and sorrow began flowing down his cheeks. A single long, drawn out scream emitted from his shaking frame: "No!"


End file.
